


The Arrow and the Dead Eye

by EmpressMermalaid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, Cutesy, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Post-Recall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7866193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressMermalaid/pseuds/EmpressMermalaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 Themes Drabble Challenge</p>
<p>A variety of McCree and Hanzo moments, from the good to the bad, the ugly to the sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Introductions"

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm just gonna use these drabble prompts as warm ups," I said. "Just aiming for 100 words or so," I said.
> 
> I lied. Please enjoy!
> 
> [All 100 prompts are coming from the Originals List here! ](https://kathrineroid.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/100-themes-challenge-writing-prompts/)

The Overwatch Recall had brought a lot of familiar faces back to base, but it had also brought along a lot of new ones too. People from all over the map with unique talents had risen to the call, hoping to take the moniker of “Hero” in the global battle to restore peace to a war torn world. Some of the new faces at Watchpoint Gibraltar were surprising – a nineteen year old superstar from some video game community, a manic eyed laughing man who said he’d join the cause in exchange for “protection” – but none were as surprising as the appearance of the eldest Shimada brother.

“I knew he was coming,” Winston admitted guiltily.

Several heads turned to look at him, their expressions varied from disapproving scowls, to curt smiles. The members of Overwatch currently gathered at the Gibraltar base sat in a wide circle in the middle of Winston’s office, overlooking the ocean cliffs and transporter tarmac. Winston mumbled something about prior email conversations, shifting in his seat and having the decency to look a little ashamed of his secrecy.

“I had _hope_ that he would come,” Genji said, the tranquil elation apparent in his voice – his smile audible through his mask.

Hanzo himself sat on the floor on his knees, his bow neatly positioned in front of him. His hands were balled into fists on his knees and he stared resolutely at a fixed point in the middle distance, his head bowed ever so slightly to Winston. _“Please... make use of my skills for your cause”_ he had said when he first arrived, his voice metered and level as though he had rehearsed the words a hundred times. Angela glanced from Hanzo to Genji to Winston, her objection clear in her silent scowl.

“After what he did...” she huffed under her breath, voice trembling with a maternal fury.

“I wish to atone,” Hanzo looked up from the floor to her face. Angela Ziegler, the Angel of Overwatch, Mercy itself – he knew who she was and what she had done for his brother, so it was no mystery to him why she might object to his presence. He had been prepared for this from the beginning.

“I was the one who asked him to come, Doctor Ziegler,” Genji’s smooth robotic voice spoke up as he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I thought Overwatch may help him find peace as I have.”

“We do need all the extra help we can get,” Winston rumbled, adjusting his glasses, “with that being said, I would like to welcome you as the latest provisional member of the Overwatch Team. If you have a moment, I’ll discuss the terms of our cause and get you some paperwork-“

Winston was interrupted by a cheerful cry from Genji, who stepped to his brother’s side and slapped him heartily on the back with a metal hand.

“Good for you, Hanzo!” he rejoiced, “I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends.”

Hanzo remained tight lipped and silent, but he followed his brother’s lead and stood up with a quick, feline roll of his feet. He glanced to the floor, his lower lip worried slightly between his teeth. He was the outcast here. He knew he had a long way to go to earn their trust. He felt as though he were standing on a stage under a giant spotlight, at the scrutiny of strangers all of whom knew him and the sins of his past, yet he did not know a thing about them. He supposed that letting his brother, ever the excitable fool, introduce him to these old friends of his would be the first step in rectifying this problem. He was finally turning over a new leaf. Gone was the lone wolf who betrayed his brother – he would be a new man and make nice with those he would call allies.

“This is Winston, obviously,” Genji waved his hand towards the bespectacled scientist who nodded curtly, a patient smile on his face as he let the Shimada brothers have their moment. Paperwork could wait. Hanzo inclined his head with brief acknowledgement.

“This is Reinhardt-“

“HELLO!” the greying knight boomed, greeting Hanzo with a flick of his hand that knocked a rogue stack of peanut butter toppling from the coffee table nearby. The corners of Hanzo’s lips tweaked as he bowed his head again to the German goliath, who scrambled to pick up the things he had just sent tumbling to the floor.

"Lena-"

"Hiya!"

“And this is-... erm...” Genji’s outstretched hand had landed on Mercy, who fixed him with an icy stare, refusing to look at Hanzo, “... uh...”

The pause that followed was heavy with awkward silence. Hanzo looked at the medic woman – Mercy – hoping to appear friendly, though he knew her distrust of him was not misplaced. Genji hesitated for a moment before forcibly grabbing Hanzo by the shoulder and wheeling him around to the other side of the room. A lone man sat on the edge of Winston’s desk, but when he saw it was his turn for introductions, he slid onto his feet with a distinct jangle and crossed the distance in a few long strides.

“The name’s McCree,” he grinned lopsidedly, his voice chipper and friendly as he extended a hand to the newcomer.

Hanzo looked at the hand in front of him, large and tanned, and hesitated, sparing a moment’s glance at Genji who looked as though he was smiling with encouragement despite the visor covering his face. Hanzo gingerly took the hand he was offered, which was promptly shook with so much vigour he felt it all the way up his arm.

“Nice to meet you!” McCree said, his tongue rolling the words off his tongue in a smoky drawl. He winked and flicked Hanzo a lazy finger gun. Hanzo recoiled slightly, taken aback with a mixture of surprise and amusement. His cheeks felt a little warmer, as did the hand that had just touched McCree’s. He chalked it up to severe second hand embarrassment at how ridiculous this man was. Yet he was the only one who had gone out of his way to come up and greet Hanzo with warmth, no silent judgement hidden behind his eyes. He felt a pang of appreciation for the goofy caricature of a man.

A small smile finally worked its way onto Hanzo’s face.

“It is... nice to meet you too.”

 


	2. “Complicated”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! ヾ(｡･ω･)ｼ

The sun was setting behind some low hanging clouds, bathing the West side of the Watchpoint in a mottled orange glow. A puff of smoke coiled from the cigar between McCree’s lips as he rolled it between his lips, enjoying the warmth and the sweet, cloudy taste on his tongue as he slowly wandered around the perimeter. He needed to stretch his legs after being stuck inside since lunch, helping Athena sort a digital archive full of duplicate files, outdated policies and abandoned projects that were years old on Winston’s request. He hooked his thumbs into his belt and rolled his shoulders, relishing in the way his back cracked, a comfortable relief seeping through his muscles. He blinked and held a hand over his brow like a visor as something bright suddenly flashed in his eyes out of his peripheral vision. He squinted in that direction to see the sun reflecting off a very distinct metal form.

Genji raised a hand, flicking him a two fingered salute in greeting from where he was meditating on the roof. McCree waved back and continued his walk, only to find that a moment later he was not alone. How Genji managed to move from one place to another like lightning yet remain completely silent was a mystery to McCree – he prided himself on his keen senses and yet Genji could pop up out of anywhere and take him by surprise.

“Hello,” Genji’s voice held its usual metallic cadence, but it seemed ever so slightly bouncier than normal.

“Howdy,” McCree tapped off a light shower of ash from the end of his cigar to hide the fact he nearly had a heart attack from being snuck up on.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” McCree replied as their steps fell into sync.

There was a moment of quiet, in which only the sea crashing against the rocks surrounding the base could be heard.

“So what do you think of my brother?” Genji’s words strung together quickly, as though he had been bursting to ask. McCree thought it was quite endearing. His enthusiasm was infectious.

“Well, he’s…” McCree scratched his beard pensively, flicking his cigar between his teeth as he struggled to find the right words.

Hanzo had been more elusive than a cryptid since his arrival last week. McCree had only really seen him a few times in passing, always looking at him cautiously as though calculating whether or not McCree posed a threat. Hanzo always disappeared before he could really get close enough for a proper conversation, seemingly as swift as his younger brother. He seemed like an interesting fellow, talented with a variety of weaponry but specializing in the bow according to Genji. A unique choice of weapon in this day and age, McCree had thought - he’d like to see Hanzo in action. To be as skilled as Genji claimed, he must have quite the aim.

Of course, Hanzo’s reputation preceded him. Genji often spoke of his strict, stern faced brother back when they were teammates in the glory days of Overwatch - about how he was a stickler for the rules, how he lived by the code of the Shimada Clan at all times, how he was as ruthless and bitter and never smiled. Genji’s words had been riddled with anguish, hatred and betrayal. McCree had seen Genji at his darkest hour – a metal man, held together by a grotesque web of wires and coloured tubes, bandages holding flesh to steel, the man shaking like a newborn fawn, stumbling from the massive feat it took to simply stand up... it was hard to forget a sight like that. It was even harder to try and change how you already felt about the man responsible.

“He seems like… a nice enough guy,” McCree finally settled on, very diplomatically. He had firsthand experience trying to distance himself from the evils of his younger years. He tried to extend the same courtesy to the other Shimada brother now.

Genji made a noise of agreement, looking from McCree to his own hand thoughtfully.

“Ain’t it awkward for you though?” McCree asked what had been bugging him from day one, “after… you know…?”

“Hmm…” Genji mused, tilting his head, “it is… _complicated_.”

“I don’t doubt.”

“When we were boys, I looked up to Hanzo,” Genji said softly, “we played together in the family shrine… he would often protect me from our father’s wrath. As he grew older, the pressure from the elders became too much and my brother became more and more like them. That was Hanzo’s path. It was not mine. Though I yearned for freedom, our family still tried to have me commit myself to a life of service to old men who would line their pockets with the misery of others.”

Coming from the Deadlock Gang, McCree could sympathise. Faceless head honchos gave the orders, his team moved the merchandise, they saw very little of the money… in hindsight, grunts like him shouldered all of the risk for none of the reward. He didn’t blame Genji for seeing it for what it truly was.

“I do not believe that Hanzo _wanted_ to kill me. We quarreled. He pleaded with me to do as our father wished so his obligation would not be as it was. Alas, the elders commanded him to display his resolve for them. I provoked him. Hanzo was without a choice.”

McCree exhaled shakily. Though he had been good friends with Genji for some time, they had never really spoken about the advent of his demise, least of all so openly.

“I hated him for it at first. I hated what I had become. We did not talk much at that time, McCree-san, but you remember what I was. I felt a monster – many times I cursed Doctor Ziegler for what she did to my body. Many more times I wished that Hanzo had shown less mercy… if he had fought me as he did our enemies, I would have succeeded in dying for sure. Only now do I thank him for the reservations he had that night. Only now can I appreciate what Doctor Ziegler did for me. I learned forgiveness from my _sensei_. I grew comfortable with who I was. I don’t blame Hanzo for what he did - I truly believe my brother can become the type of man to forgive himself… as I have.”

Genji stopped talking and a heavy silence settled over them both. They had started looping back around the base and walked most of the distance back to the hangar quietly absorbed in their own thoughts, slowing to a standstill by the landing. Genji fixed McCree with a poignant stare, radiating through the expressionless visage of his steel faceplate.

“I think…” Genji’s voice pulled McCree from his reverie, “what my brother needs most of all right now… is friends…”

He said nothing more, leaving McCree by the hangar doors as the outdoor flood lights warmed to life in his wake.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter... the prompt was "Complicated" and it kind of wrote itself to be honest. Trying to practice writing more dialogue as I suck at it.
> 
> I would have posted it sooner, except I write while I'm at work, and I emailed myself the file on Friday afternoon, but it didn't send properly.... orz.
> 
> So I'm hoping to have a small something to read every weekday for y'all (as I'll mostly drabble write while on the clock lmaooo).


	3. "Making History"

“It’s a noble thing you’re doing,” Winston’s deep voice rumbled, “we hope to see you truly prosper as an agent of Overwatch.”

Hanzo nodded in affirmation, shaking the lumbering scientist’s hand as a gesture of goodwill, though he struggled to maintain eye contact for too long. A small pile of neatly printed documents sat on the desk between them, now gilded with a sharp, pointed signature that read _Shimada Hanzo_. He would have preferred to use his traditional seal, a lovely ornamental kanji stamp given to him by his father on his sixteenth birthday, but he had long since lost it. Disavowing your clan and being on the run did not lend itself to keeping luxuries or trinkets. He would learn to acclimatise to the customs of the Overwatch Organisation if he were to continue to make nice, and he was determined to do so.

“Did you require any special accommodations while on base?” Winston pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and looked at Hanzo with a level gaze, shuffling the papers into an orderly folder, “things like… dietary requirements? Allergies? Medical conditions?”

“None.”

Hanzo was abrupt out of habit. He tried to soften the brevity of his words with a slight inclination of his head, though he wondered if it had the desired effect. If Winston was perturbed, he didn’t show it – though Hanzo did not completely trust his ability to read the innocuous facial expressions and nuanced body language of another species accurately.

“Well, that’s your initiation all done then! Please feel free to roam the base as freely as you like – oh! – but don’t stray too far. The United Nations have already had a few words about our return to action, but that’s nothing for you to worry about. I told them we’d stay nice and safe on our base and won’t mobilise without notification. If we go too close to the perimeter I fear they may misinterpret the gesture – I've already had to have words with Reinhardt and Miss Song on separate occasions. Speaking of – please check your communications with Athena when you return to your room… I plan on having a small meeting to discuss our next steps tomorrow – I shall send you the invitation.”

“I shall await its arrival,” Hanzo stood to excuse himself. He also thanked Winston, who waved it off with a slightly embarrassed, vague gesture of his hand.

“Mister Shimada?”

Hanzo paused in the doorway, turning his head to peer back at Winston over his shoulder. Winston had sounded unsure, as though still finding his footing around Hanzo. Did he err on the side of politeness and call him Mister Shimada, or was that too formal? Was “Hanzo” too casual? Too familiar? Better to be safe than sorry, Winston had decided.

“It’s great to have you on board… we’re making history here, you know! Overwatch is going to do some real good in the world.”

Hanzo nodded curtly once more. He had an inkling in the back of his mind that Winston was trying to be overly friendly to compensate for the less than warm welcome he had received from some of the other members of the New Overwatch. The gesture was certainly appreciated, though unnecessary. Hanzo would prove himself worthy to the others through whatever means necessary. He would atone for his sins. He would become the kind of man his brother could believe in.

Hanzo returned to his room, careful to avoid any unwanted conversations by choosing his path most selectively. He climbed an angled set of stairs and slipped unnoticed through the sliding door at the end of the hall. The walls were blank and somewhat clinical - it was very boring. Considering history was to be made here, Hanzo thought that the facilities may have looked at least a little more impressive. He had not expected much and yet he was still surprised - he had thought Genji had joined an elite peacekeeping task force, but this left a lot to be desired. He wondered what this new age of Overwatch would bring to the organisation, and indeed, to him. New décor, he hoped.

He logged in to Athena's communications panel once he had locked his door behind him. His room was as spartan as the hall outside – plainly decorated, only his bow, quiver and a small folded pile of clothes alluded to his occupancy. In the back of his mind he was already aggressively redecorating – a few nice scrolls, some low end tables, a rug, a few ornamental incense burners, maybe a plant or two-

Hanzo's mental shopping list was interrupted by the internal wiki site before him finally loading. He held a small metal tablet device, smooth and cold to the touch, that faintly projected its contents forward in a sharp blue hologram. Now _this_ was the hi-tech gear he had been expecting. Winston had given it to him on his first day on base, rambling about the dossiers and information packets he had preloaded it with for Hanzo's viewing leisure. Hanzo read each article in full his first night – it was a dry read yet contained a wealth of knowledge about previous Overwatch missions, their cause, agents past and present. Nothing particularly classified or secretive was included – Hanzo supposed he hadn't reached that level of clearance yet.

He navigated back to the Agents tab. A list of the current Overwatch members popped up, each represented with a small headshot photograph and their name, with more information listed once Hanzo tapped the links smartly with his fingertip. He was keen to learn everybody's names, their motives, their histories, their backgrounds. A force of habit.

“Lindholm, Torb-... Torbjin... Torbjon.”

He scrolled through the bio of one of the founding members of the Old Overwatch, attempting to say his name aloud on a foreign tongue that refused to cooperate. He would continue to practice in the privacy of his own room. Torbjorn had answered the Recall according to Winston, and was in the process of making travel arrangements to meet them here on Gibraltar. He seemed like a mighty man from his display picture, all furrowed brows and bushy beard.

“Oxton, Lena...” that one was an easy one to say – it was the perky girl he'd seen zipping magically from one end of the room to the other - “Amari, Pharah... Winston... Wilhelm, Reinhardt...”

He paused as his finger hovered over the article for Shimada, Genji. He didn't know if he could bring himself to read it yet. All of the other articles had great detail about how the members had come to join Overwatch and he wasn't sure he wanted to know Genji's story – not like this. If he were to hear about their quarrel from Genji's point of view, then he would hear it from Genji himself. Plus, it would only go on to list all of the achievements and military decorations his brother would have received in the decade that Hanzo had mourned him, believing him to be dead and gone...

He blindly clicked to the next profile. Ziegler, Angela. He was quite interested in reading up on her. When he had first arrived he only had time to skim each of the profiles, so he settled in to give each of his new allies a more thorough researching. Hanzo was enjoying reading about the technical aspects of her biotic nanotechnology when he felt suddenly ill as he came across her greatest achievements, and noticed that there was an entire chapter full of her research notes and other incident reports simply labeled “The Rebuilding of Genji Shimada.”

Hanzo hit the back button with more force than was necessary, jamming his thumb hard against the tablet surface. He quickly tapped to another profile.

“McCree, Jesse...”

Ahh, this was the friendly man from his first day. He had spotted him a few times since then, though Hanzo could never quite tell if the squinting, lopsided expression on his face was one of welcoming or scorn. He would continue to keep all his allies at a distance until he could be sure of their intentions.

When Hanzo fell asleep later that evening, his tablet still emitted a soft blue light, halfway through a fascinating mission report he had found himself caught up in about some place called Route 66.

 


	4. "Rivalry"

The castle of Hanamura is among one of the most beautiful structures in the world. Completed during the height of the Tokugawa period, it still stands today as a testimony to the vision and craftsmanship of architects long gone. It stands as the center point to a bustling cityscape, towering above the suburban streets on the cliff face it was built upon. Views from outside the castle are majestic in every season – from the golden trees lining its walls in the Autumn, to the romantic sight of powdered snow on the red temple rooftops in Winter.

A young boy runs through the castle grounds, his feet pattering swiftly on the polished wood decks that lead from the castle interior to the gardens outside. He turns sharply, feet sliding a little with inertia, before regaining his balance and leaping from the decking to a nearby rock. He scrambled swiftly over the top, laughing despite the raw scrape left on his knees by the abrasive surface of the stone he was climbing.

“You cheated!” a voice called from some way back and another boy came tearing in to view, his fine, deeply coloured hippari tugging askew as he ran, “Genji! You cheated!”

“Nuh uh!” the boy called Genji taunted, standing atop the rock he had scaled, which was easily twice his height, “you’re too slow, Hanzo!”

“You _said_ you were going to count to three!” Hanzo skidded to a halt by the deck railing, gripping it angrily as he shouted to his younger brother, who was currently doing a victory pose on his rocky podium.

“I _did_ count to three!” Genji flashed a wide grin, his tongue sticking through the gap in his front teeth from where a baby tooth had recently fallen out, “I just skipped one and two and went right to three! It’s not my fault you weren’t listening!”

“That’s not _fair_!” Hanzo scowled, making his own way over the railing and dropping to the ground beside Genji’s rock, “let’s do it again but _properly_ this time.”

“That’s _boo-ooring_ ,” Genji’s shoulders heaved dramatically, “you should spar with me, Hanzo! I bet I can beat you today!”

“Hmmph,” Hanzo folded his arms, looking up at his younger brother with a wry squint, “unlikely.”

“Let’s go then!”

Hanzo was already prepared for Genji to spring quickly in to action, and so he was already running by the time Genji had said the words. He drove his heels into the ground and pushed forward, outrunning his brother by a wide margin now that the tables were turned. He heard Genji shriek with a cry of frustration as he struggled to catch up. They both stopped in the training yard, a wide open area with sand bag dummies, flimsy wooden targets, and a wall rack supporting a host of old equipment. The boys both huffed, panting for breath as they shoved one another out the way in a haste to secure the “best” weapon. There was a particularly nasty scrum for the cleaner, nicer looking training sword – it was a short, polished wood piece with a frayed rope hilt and spots of dark colouration from the weather. Hanzo emerged victorious, after using his slight height advantage to bump Genji to the ground after Genji tried to bite him. The younger brother floundered to his feet, grabbing the nearest alternative – a sad looking wooden sword with a greying varnish and a splintery handle.

Genji took a quick jab at Hanzo who knocked it aside with his own sword.

“ _Bow_ first!” Hanzo chided, hands on his hips.

“Our enemies aren’t gonna _bow_ when they come to fight us, Hanzo! You gotta be _ready_!”

“It doesn’t matter, Father said you gotta bow!”

“Father’s not here though and _he_ said we always gotta be ready.”

“Genji, do it properly!”

“ _Fiiine_ ,” Genji gave an exaggerated sigh and bowed so fast his hair flicked around comically when he snapped up and down at the waist.

By comparison, Hanzo took his time to bow slowly. He did it methodically, the way they had both been _taught_ to do. Show the top of his head to his partner. Show trust. Show faith. Ready your weapon but wait to strike. He felt a surge of smugness at the impatient look on Genji’s face.

They took up arms against one another, parrying and dancing across the dusty training grounds, both playing safe to begin with. Hanzo was cautious out of instinct – never reveal your hand, see what the enemy is capable of – but Genji was careful because this was his chance. His moment. He would finally best his brother, and Hanzo would finally see him as an equal. He couldn’t risk a single mistake. He had been practicing under the cover of night, secretly sneaking away from his room to work on his swordsmanship against a fighting dummy, working on his footing and speed and power until he was sure he was on the same level as Hanzo, who seemed to effortlessly excel at every exercise their Father gave them.

“They fight so much…” from a castle window, a long haired woman with soft eyes watched the boys spar.

“They are learning. They are becoming strong,” a stern faced man sitting beside her said, his voice strict and chiding.

“They’re just children, darling,” the woman replied, looking at her husband with almost pleading eyes, “let them be children.”

“They’ll lead the clan together one day – they will need to know how to fight. I will not tolerate weakness, you know this. I’m glad they fight – it means their spirits are strong, and their will to win is even stronger. They have no need to be children when they have the legacy of the Dragon awaiting them both.”

The woman turned away, a crease in her brow and a downturn to her lips. She said nothing, but watched her sons battle as though their lives depended on it, and prayed they never would.

  
  


 


	5. "Unbreakable"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait for the next update guys, my grandfather passed away last week and it was pretty hard to get back into the swing of things. I should be posting more regularly again now that things are back on schedule. With that being said, hope y'all enjoy!

“Mind if I join you?”

The sudden voice behind him startled Hanzo. He had been meditating, quietly kneeling on an outside deck that ran the length of the dormitories. He had thought he had been rather secluded here – he was clearly mistaken. Hanzo turned to see the smiling, rough face of that friendly cowboy man – _McCree_ – who held up an unlit cigar and a flask.

“… do as you wish,” Hanzo did not move – there was plenty of space up here if the American wished to also be here.

“Thank you kindly,” McCree stepped out onto the terrace, rolling his cigar between his teeth with a sputtering lighter held up to his mouth, his metal hand cupped around it to shield from the breeze. A coil of smoke unfurled in the air gently, the end of the cigar glowing gold with lit embers. There was a pleasant silence, punctuated only with a slight creak of steel as McCree leaned against the railing, puffing contentedly. Hanzo continued to kneel, no longer meditating, until he felt a little foolish being so low down in compared to his current company and swiftly rose to his feet.

Hanzo blinked in surprise as a dented, scuffed flask was shoved in his face. He recoiled slightly, looking behind the flask to the scruffy man holding it up to his nose.

“Need a lil pick me up?” he said, shaking the flask back and forth so it sloshed hollowly, “you look a little tired there.”

“I am… _quite_ alright,” Hanzo replied slowly, moving back half a step so he was no longer being assaulted by the smell of whisky.

McCree shrugged and took a swig while tapping the ash off the end of his cigar over the balcony railing.

“So… you got an old lady back home or anything?” McCree’s vagueness was obviously an attempt at a very light conversation starter, though Hanzo frowned as he didn’t quite understand the words. His English was top of his class, and enough to conduct business across the globe, but he found that he sometimes struggled when it came to certain… _colloquialisms_.

“An… _old lady_?”

“You know, like, a wife or family or… you know?”

McCree’s voice tripped slightly over the word “family” and he seemed suddenly quite busy with the cap of his flask. To Hanzo’s keen eyes, the observation did not go unnoticed.

“You have already met what is left of my family. My brother, Genji.”

“Right,” McCree agreed, looking a little like he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole.

“And you?”

McCree looked up, his eyebrows trailing towards his hairline in mild surprise.

“Me?”

“Your family. Are you married?”

McCree snorted.

“Ahh nah, no way. Only lady back home who gives a damn about me is my Ma ‘n she thinks I died a while ago. Better that way. You know how it is in our line o’ work, eh?”

Hanzo exhaled with an audible sound like a dry “hmmph” in agreeance before adding rather curtly “my mother passed some time ago.”

“Oh…” McCree scratched his beard, a wisp of smoke snaking across his fingers, “’m sorry to hear that.”

“As I said,” Hanzo’s regular scowl seemed to deepen, “it was some time ago, there is no need for sympathies.”

The brief silence that ensued prickled at the back of McCree’s neck and the plume of cigar smoke in front of him thickened noticeably as he puffed harder. Hanzo cleared his throat, brushing some stray dust from the shoulder of his clothing. McCree took a deep drink.

“Your arm…” Hanzo broke the quiet rather unexpectedly as he gestured to McCree’s metal hand, currently curled around his flask, “how did it happen?”

McCree chortled, whistling low and quiet as though recalling the tale and wondering where to even begin.

“One hell of a story,” he grinned, and was surprised to find that Hanzo’s expression had softened into something slightly more pleasant too, “got shot – clean sweep right through the bone. ‘Course I’ve been shot before, but I was on the run, see? Can’t exactly walk on in to a Hospital like that. By the time I got in touch with Ange and she hooked me up with a friend of hers in the area, infection had set in and they had to amputate the whole darn thing.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Hurt? Naw, not any more. In fact, it's been pretty damn useful having such a good prosthetic - I’m unbreakable now!”

McCree laughed as he flexed his metal fingers in demonstration and slapped his metal arm with his flesh hand, making the metallic clang ring out with a loud thump.

“I thought, maybe…” Hanzo curled his lip pensievely, “your dossier said something about gang activity…”

“The Deadlock guys? Nah, that’s ancient history. Besides, they did worse than cut people’s arms off for initiations ‘n’ hazin’s.”

The two of them fell quiet again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. More of a silent vigil for the atrocities they’d both witnessed and committed alike. Hanzo’s history was no mystery to McCree – Genji had told them more than enough. Genji himself had _been_ more than enough of a testament to what Hanzo was capable of. He tried not to dwell on it as they bid one another farewell and went their separate ways - Hanzo disappearing with surprising swiftness as McCree watched his back disappear around a corner, a stream of gold ribbon whipping behind him. McCree exhaled nice and slow, savouring the taste of sweet fire on his tongue as he blew a final plume of smoke from his nostrils, flicking the ashy butt of his cigar over the rails whistling a tune on his way back to his room. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder that you can see more of my shit in the following places:
> 
> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ladymermalaid)  
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> 
> Did you enjoy this fic? Chuck me a comment (even if it's just a single, solitary grunt) and you will fill me with such pride and vanity and appreciation I will have no choice but to write more and update more regularly to soak up more of that sweet, sweet recognition. It's that simple!


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